


The Ophelia Humphrey Show: Epilogue

by MaxWrite



Series: Hockey Night in Canada and Everything After [11]
Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Mission: Impossible (Movies) RPF
Genre: M/M, Mild Language, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 20:10:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9784046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: The world's most beloved talk show host and her cameras are gone, but not forgotten. Simon deals with the impact of her presence in his home and the aftermath of his own choices.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this the day after Simon's 47th birthday (Valentine's Day :D) and on International Fanworks Day! I was gonna post it yesterday but didn't get it done in time, so today works too. I think it's fitting that, after months of very little productivity, I would get my act together and actually finish a fic on Fanworks Day. I've been working on a few fics at once, whenever inspiration strikes, and it was basically a race to the finish to see which one would be ready either yesterday or today. This one won.
> 
> Anyway, this isn't terribly long. Or intense, despite what the summary might imply. It takes place directly after the last fic, which took place in Autumn of 2012. There's a little speech Simon gives near the end that I've had in my head pretty much since I posted the last fic, so I needed to write this. It's been a long time coming. Apologies for any typos. Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy. And happy birthday, Simon! ♥♥♥

Simon watches the expensive black car drive away, down the road leading back down into town, until it disappears among the trees. He's not sure how to feel about his last conversation with Ophelia Humphrey. He supposes he should be relieved that it went as well as it did. It could've ended a lot worse.

Well, no, he should probably give her more credit than that. He supposes this bonds him and her in a way. So, _technically_ Tom's getting exactly what he'd wanted.

Tom's hand is on his back, gently rubbing there as he, too, watches Ophelia depart. He then turns to Simon and says, "You okay?"

Simon looks at him. "Yeah. Why?"

"Well, you know." Tom gestures at the film crew across the large, circular driveway. They're nearly on their way as well. "I know you had reservations about all this."

"I'm fine. I was worried about you, actually."

"Me? Why?"

Simon shrugs, suddenly feeling silly for being concerned. Tom is an interview pro. And Ophelia could've been much harder on him. "Parts of that interview felt … stressful," Simon admits. He glances around the driveway; the crew vans are finally on their way. The cars that are left belong to the catering staff, who are still inside cleaning up, housekeeping, and his and Tom's assistants. "How long until we're alone?"

"An hour or two, maybe?" Tom smiles softly and pulls Simon closer. "I can try to speed that up," he murmurs just as his phone vibrates. Simon can just make out the soft buzz coming from Tom's back pocket. Tom keeps hold of him as he checks his phone. He smiles to himself, then puts the phone away.

"Good news?" Simon asks.

"Yup. I'll tell you later. For now, though …" Tom puts both arms around him now. "You got business to finish up with Claire?" Simon nods. "Yeah, I have to sit down with Lisa, too. Let's split up, go handle things, and by the time we're done, everyone'll probably be gone." Tom pauses and regards Simon quietly for a moment. He's squinting in the afternoon sun so it's hard to read his expression. "You're incredible, you know that?" he says.

"Why, what'd I do?"

"So many things." He leans in and kisses Simon's cheek. "You did good, kid."

Simon smiles. "You're being fucking weird."

"I'll tell you later," Tom repeats.

On that rather cryptic note, they head back inside and part ways. By the time Simon is done with his assistant, the house feels wonderfully empty. The front door closes behind Claire, leaving Simon standing in the bright front foyer by himself. Everything's quiet. He walks through to the kitchen, which the catering staff and housekeeping has left spotless, just as they'd found it. The big room where the interview had taken place looks normal again; no cameras, no lights, no anxious people scurrying about with clipboards and headsets. Everything's the way it was.

Sort of. Little private bits of Simon's life have been taken from here and will be given to the public soon, and what's left in place of those bits is the alien feeling of unwanted guests having been in his personal space. They're always going to be here now, a ghostly presence haunting him from every corner of this room, the big room, in particular. He goes to the sofa, sits where he'd sat for the interview and has a look around. Ophelia and her crew are still there, at the edges of his vision. She's in the chair to the left while cameras loom to the right. There's the telltale whirring sound of a lens zooming in as Simon takes a moment too long to answer a question, when his eyes flit downward to avoid Ophelia's gaze, or just after she's asked Tom something invasive and awful. The whirring is just a memory, but it's loud enough.

"Hey," Tom says as he comes down the stairs at the other end of the room. "I was looking for you."

Lisa, his assistant, follows him. She's got all her stuff with her. Tom tells her goodbye and she gives Simon a wave as she leaves. Simon waves back and offers a weak smile.

"Claire gone?" Tom asks, coming to sit next to him. He casually rests a hand on Simon's thigh.

"Yeah. What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"Hm? Oh, right, yeah." Tom gives him the biggest smile and says, "She loves you."

It takes Simon a moment, but he soon catches up. "Ophelia," he says.

"You did exactly what I knew you would. You charmed the pants off her."

"Oh … she told you that?"

"Not in those words, but yes."

"When?"

"Literally seconds after she drove away. That was the text I got. Listen, I know you didn't wanna do this. I know it makes you uneasy having cameras in our home" –

"Tom, it's fine. I get why it was important."

"I know you do, but you still hate it. And you went ahead and did it anyway, put up with dumb questions about your sexuality – I know how much you hate that – and you were amazing." Tom's expression softens and he cocks his head. "You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Tom doesn't look convinced. His hand absently rubs at Simon's inner thigh. "You probably need to unwind after all that. We could get in the hot tub." He leans close and begins pressing kisses against Simon's ear and jawline and neck.

Simon considers the offer seriously. Tom's gentle sucking at his neck nearly makes him forget what was bothering him. He enjoys the kissing for a moment, cuddling closer to Tom, but then he opens his eyes and looks directly at the armchair where Ophelia had sat today. He's not even hard, and yet feels like he's losing an erection. He gently pulls away from Tom, sits back and drops his head back against the backrest. "Fuck me."

"I was trying to," Tom says.

"What were her exact words?" Simon asks, staring at the high ceiling.

"What?"

"In the text."

"Is … is that what you were thinking about just now while I was sucking on your neck?"

Simon scrunches up his face and looks over at Tom. "No! God, no. I mean, yeah, near the end there, I was. 'S why I had to pull away."

"She just said that you're wonderful and she can tell you love me very much."

Simon hesitates, going over those words, trying to read between the lines. "Okay," he says cautiously.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm just … surprised."

"You didn't think she'd like you?"

Simon isn't sure how to respond. If he tells Tom that that isn't it, Tom will continue to ask questions and Simon isn't sure he wants to be honest here. If he says that that _is_ what it is, Tom will think it's some kind of insecurity garbage, and that's not it at all.

Finally Simon just sighs, raises his head and says, "It's not important. Really. I'm all right. You're all right. We got through it. She likes me … apparently. It's all good, right?"

"You still don't trust her," Tom says.

"Were you expecting me to?"

Tom shrugs. "I dunno. I thought maybe she'd convince you of her integrity. She's my friend. She wouldn't hurt me."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Come on, cut me some slack. It isn't easy, is it? One meeting with her, one interview – during which she just barely held back, might I add. Oh, I saw it on her face," Simon quickly adds when Tom opens his mouth to protest. "I saw where she wanted to go and she damn near did. It's not that I don't like her. It's hard not to like her. But I won't be fooled. I think she likes you, maybe even cares about you, but you're not close friends. Her priority is her show. So no, today wasn't enough to change my mind. We don't really know what's in her head. We don't know what she might've seen or heard and misinterpreted."

"Such as? The house was thoroughly checked before she got here. Nothing too personal was left lying around."

"Sometimes innocuous things can seem weird or incriminating to outsiders."

"I assure you, all the dildos and butt plugs were put under lock and key."

Simon has to smile and he's more than a little annoyed about it. "Stop it, this is serious."

"Everything's fine. I've known her for years. We can trust her. I wouldn't tell you to trust someone I wasn't sure about."

"I know you wouldn't."

"Do you not trust me, then? Do we need to talk about something?"

"No, of course I trust you. I'm gonna be paranoid about these things. That's just how I am. I'm sure I'll get over it. If she's as lovely as everyone thinks she is. But for now … I'm uneasy."

"You have nothing to worry about. We go way back. We know each other better than you think we do. And you're one charming son of a bitch. She totally fell for you. Just like I did … well, not _exactly_ like I did."

Simon sighs, knowing what he has to do now. If he doesn't, he'll hate himself forever. If he puts it off, it'll only be worse when he finally does come clean. "Tom, I've gotta tell you something," he says gravely.

"What? Wait … _did_ she fall for you like I did?"

"You're very funny, now settle down and listen. She, erm … she didn't _completely_ fall for me. I mean, yeah, I guess she likes me well enough, but she knows more about how I feel than we led you to believe."

"Which means what?" Tom asks cautiously.

"She could tell that I wasn't entirely happy with her. I could've hid it better, I know. But when she started going in on your love life, I just …" Simon trails off, looks away, clenches his jaw.

"Simon. What'd you say to her?"

"Before I answer that, just remember that text she sent you. We ended on a good note. We're not besties or anything, but we don't hate each other either."

" _What_ did you _say_?"

"She asked me pointblank, Tom. I wouldn't have said anything otherwise. I was honest. I said that I couldn't trust her yet. Because of who she is, because of her job. I feel like we have opposing agendas. How important is her friendship with you versus her career? Versus her ratings? Where do you fall on that spectrum? Where's the line for her? At what point does she say 'fuck it' and do what's best for her show rather than what's best for you and your relationship with her? Because I know damn well that line exists. You're not best friends. You never see each other except when you've got something to promote or when you bump into each other at some after party. You send each other birthday and Christmas gifts every year, but it's never anything personal. Gift baskets. That's not a friend. That's a business contact you want to keep in touch with. You both do what's best for business, not for each other. So no, I can't trust her. I don't know if I ever will."

Tom folds his arms across his chest, chews the inside of his lip and stares at nothing. He nods and says, "I see."

"She wasn't upset. She already knew. She saw it coming. If she'd been anyone else, I wouldn't have told her. But because you respect her so much, because of your history with her, I had to be honest. I couldn't be your lying, two-faced boyfriend. Not to her. She gets enough of that to see it coming a mile off, and I didn't want her thinking that that was who you'd hooked up with."

Tom nods again, still looking distant. "Okay."

"Are you angry?"

"No. No, I see where you were coming from. It was probably the right move. If she could tell you weren't being genuine, then coming clean probably gained you her respect."

"Well … yeah," Simon says uncertainly. He'd expected a worse reaction. "You still look upset, though. Your eyebrows are merging."

"I'm not upset. I'm … she did send me that text, so … I guess everything's fine." Tom looks at Simon, examines his face. "You know I trust you, right? You made the right call."

Simon relaxes a bit. "Thank you. For what it's worth, I wasn't planning on telling her. I went into today with every intention of being perfectly pleasant."

"So, what happened?"

"I told you, it was that particular line of questioning. It's just hard to listen to. It's hard to watch you maneuver through questions like that. What hurts you, hurts me too."

"Simon, I'm not hurt. Far from it. I didn't tell her anything that I didn't want the world to hear."

"I know, but the mere suggestion that something might be meant to damage you in some way just gets my hackles up. You're my family now. No, not legally, not yet, but who gives a fuck? That's just paper. You are my family, and nobody comes for my family."

Tom uncrosses his arms, shifts over a bit closer, takes Simon's hand in his left hand while his right goes up to gently stroke the short hair just above Simon's ear. "What am I gonna do with you, huh?" he says softly, looking at Simon in a gentle, dreamy way.

"You're really not upset?" Simon asks.

"No. But I gotta tell you, if you have to go around telling people off every time someone says something mean about your boyfriend, you might've hooked up with the wrong guy."

"Nah. I'm right where I belong." Simon's eyes dart over to the Ophelia chair and his shoulders sag. "Shit."

"Now what?"

"I know I'm overreacting, but it just _really_ irks me that there were cameras here. This is the first major thing you and I have owned together. It's so close to where you and I began, and now … how am I supposed to come in here and not imagine the entire world peeking in through the window?"

"We're gonna fill this place with so many new memories, you'll forget today before you know it. In fact …" Tom's left hand releases Simon's and makes it's way back to Simon's thigh. "I was thinking about making a new memory when I came in here."

"Fucking on the sofa is your answer for everything."

"Hey, I stick with what works. Besides, isn't it kind of fun thinking about all the things those cameras didn't get to see? Like this?" Tom leans in and makes a delicate swipe with his tongue inside Simon's mouth, gently sucks on Simon's bottom lip as they kiss and then slowly pulls away to fix Simon with a smoldering gaze. "This place is important, I agree. But our private world is so much more than this house."

He's right. There's an entire universe that the media will never get their hands on. Moments and feelings and memories and desires. There's so much in Tom's eyes just then; every besotted, protective, horny thing he's ever felt for Simon is right there in those pretty little pools and they're focused directly on Simon. Even if outsiders can often see the affection all over Tom's face (he's not exactly shy about showing it), they don't see the extent. This is only for the two of them. Stripped down, honest, unguarded, vulnerable. Simon's the only one who gets this from Tom, and Tom's the only one who gets it from him.

Simon reaches up and one-handedly unbuttons his collar. "All right, then, let's fuck on the sofa," he says with mock resignation.

Tom's out of words. He can only nod enthusiastically and moan as their lips come together again.

The kiss is harder and more desperate this time, but before Simon lets himself get swept up in it, he pulls away, lays a hand on Tom's chest to stop him and adds, "And the armchair."

"Huh?" Tom grunts dazedly. He's already up off his butt, leaning over Simon, ready to nudge him down onto his back.

"The armchair. You gotta bend me over that chair. We've gotta reclaim it."

Tom nods again. "Okay," he says with breathy urgency. "Anything," he adds as they both go horizontal and he crawls on top of Simon. "I'll give you anything. You wanna get another place out here?" he asks between the kisses he's pressing into Simon's throat. "I'll get you another place – _fuck_ this place."

"You're fucking ridiculous," Simon says, already feeling breathless as he feels up and down Tom's broad, muscly back and grinds up against him.

"Tell me what you need. You want a car? A pony? I'll buy you a pony."

"Christ, you have no chill," Simon says, half laughing. Tom stops feasting on his neck and raises his head to look down at him. Tom was joking, of course (about the pony at least … probably), which is why he's grinning from ear to ear. Simon gazes up at him and says, "I just want you. That's all."

Tom's smile softens and he nods again. "Okay," he whispers and then slips his tongue back into Simon's mouth.

END

**Author's Note:**

>   
> [Tumblr](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com) • [Twitter](http://twitter.com/maxwrite)   
> 


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